


City of Broken Chains

by mechanicaljewel



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Dorian Pavus, Enemies to Lovers, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, Internalized Homophobia, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Past Dorian Pavus/Rilienus, Past Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Post-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Self-Exile, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicaljewel/pseuds/mechanicaljewel
Summary: In 9:37 Dragon, Dorian escaped his father and fled to Kirkwall to stay well out of reach. But he arrives at a city in turmoil and has a run-in with a hypervigilant elf, who hates everything he represents. But how Fenris feels about him as a man is a work in progress.
Relationships: Fenris/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 34
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally giving shape to the various ponderings I've had over the years about how to make this ship work. As such, I have only a vague idea where this is going (spoiler: they're gonna bang), but the first chapter poured out of me fairly quickly, so hopefully that keeps up!

Kirkwall was at last in sight. Dorian had spent every last coin Maevaris had so graciously given him to get here. Part of him had felt terrible about taking it, as though he were taking advantage of her as a vulnerable widow. But Mae was never vulnerable even when in mourning, and there was no way he could have gotten here without it. Travel towards Kirkwall had become ridiculously expensive, and not a single ship, carriage, or merchant convoy would actually go all the way to the city-state right now. Nobody really seemed to know why either. "There's trouble in Kirkwall, they say," is all anyone could agree on.

"They" said the Chantry had been exploded—by the Qunari? No, the Qunari were driven out of Kirkwall two years ago, by the Champion—well, something blew up the Chantry—must have been mages, and blood magic what blew up the Chantry—or wait, the Chantry is fine, and it's the mage tower that exploded? Hang on, the mages rose up, with blood magic of course, stormed the Chantry, and—

It had been exhausting to listen to, and then suffer the evil looks people shot at him for his staff, even moreso if they recognized him as Tevinter. In fact, Dorian wasn't entirely sure it wasn't just _him_ people were refusing to take to Kirkwall.

But he made it anyway, though he had paid dearly for every mile. He still had his staff, the clothes on his back, a bedroll, and his birthright. And he hadn't even had to go down on his knees for anyone either. Once upon a time, that would have sounded like a grand adventure—hitch a ride to wherever with whomever would take him _by_ taking him. Though, he supposed that only held any appeal if he had the luxury of choice of chauffeur. Under his current circumstances, however, with the reason he had left home, he would not let Halward Pavus have even the unknowing satisfaction of his son sacrificing his dignity as the price for resisting his father's "correction".

The dwarven merchant who had taken his last sovereign tossed him out of his cart at the foot of Sundermount. "Spent a long time gaining the trust of these Dalish to trade with them, best if they don't see you. I'm not going into Kirkwall anyway. Good luck in there, and tell Tethras to answer his fucking mail."

As Dorian approached the walled city, he could indeed sense something of the trouble that it had been going through. The Veil was disturbingly thin around here, with reverberations of huge amounts of magic, echoes of fairly recent bursts of magical activity. But he could also swear he detected a hint of Qunari blackpowder in the air. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him, the Fade feeding him back memories of the various Qunari raids on Qarinus he'd lived through—from within the safety of his family's estate, of course. Whatever had happened here, however, he was about to walk right into the thick of it.

Suddenly, a streak of blue light cut across his vision. _Kaffas!_ He hadn't been paying attention to his physical surroundings and now some...something had gotten the jump on him. He reached behind himself for his staff when from out of nowhere, the blade of a greatsword appeared at his throat.

"You are going to toss your staff out of reach," a gruff voice unfurled around him from his right. "Slowly, no sudden moves."

Dorian did as he was told. "I swear to you, I don't have a single coin on me. I—"

"On your knees, mage," the voice came again.

Dorian sighed as he sunk to the ground, blade following his throat. "Alright, I don't have coin but," he moved to reach for his birthright tucked under his collar, but the blade jolted closer to his throat.

"Don't. Move." his captor said, still just out of sight.

Dorian took a deep, steady breath. "On a chain around my neck, I have an amulet of not inconsiderable value. You are welcome to it if you let me leave with my life, and if it's not too much to ask, whatever is left of my dignity." As he spoke, he was aware of the tip of the blade slipping under his collar, flat side (thank the Maker) sliding against his skin, under the gold chain, then lifting it and his birthright up and out of his tunic.

Another flash of blue and he felt himself being raised up by an immense pain in his chest, as if someone was squeezing his heart and lifting him from within. That's when he saw his captor for the first time, a glowing blue elf with lines of lyrium burned into his skin, and Dorian realized that, incredibly, that was exactly what was happening. The elf growled, "You think I can be bought off with the trinket of whichever magister hired you to procure his latest sacrifices? The only thing you can hope to get from me is a quicker death, though it will be no less painful than the slow death."

Dorian gasped in pain, but realized what the elf thought he was doing here. "Not—a slaver," he choked. "Looking for—cousin—of a friend." He almost passed out from the effort of speaking with a fist in his chest.

The wraith-like elf scoffed. "It's another magister you're looking for? Hah! Your friend will have to keep waiting to receive the news of Cousin Danarius's death."

"You killed—Danarius?" Oh Maker, the agony.

With a fierce, triumphant smile, the elf purred, "Yes."

"Oh, good—riddance."

Suddenly, his heart was free and he collapsed on the ground in a heap. Once he had finished retching and dry heaving, Dorian looked back up at the no longer glowing elf, who was glaring at him stoically with a hint of confusion. "You are glad to hear of Danarius's death?"

Dorian shrugged. "I suppose. I can't say I've ever met the man, our families hardly moved in the same circles, for very good reasons as I understand it, so I assume he had it coming, and the world is probably at least slightly improved by his passing?"

" _Your_ family? That is _your_ birthright, then?" The elf's eyes narrowed. "What is the scion of a magister doing in the Free Marches, dressed in rags, with not a coin to his Blighted name?"

Dorian looked down at his clothes and moaned in despair, "Oh they really are in such a terrible state, aren't they?"

" _What_ are you _doing_ here, Altus?" the elf snapped.

Dorian looked up at him again. "Oh, right. Though if I may humbly beg your indulgence and ask that I be permitted to stand?"

The elf rolled his eyes but gestured for him to stand. "One false move…" he warned.

"Yes, yes, yes," Dorian replied as he dusted himself off, combed his fingers through his hair, then very carefully smoothed and curled his mustache. The elf rolled his eyes again. "Right, where were we? Ah yes." Bowing with a flourish of his hands, he said, "Dorian of, well, formerly I suppose, of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous."

"Formerly?" The elf asked.

"Ah, yes, well," Dorian cleared his throat. "No, you know what, I still have my birthright, whatever a shitshow I may have made of my father's precious legacy. So make that 'Dorian of House Pavus'," he repeated, with just a slight dip of his head this time.

"So, Dorian possibly of House Pavus, I ask you again: why have you come to Kirkwall? And at a time like this?"

"My terrible timing must be the Maker testing me. Or making an elaborate joke at my expense, more likely. Though I'm still not entirely clear what exactly has been going on here. And as I said, I'm looking for a friend's cousin, one Varric Tethras."

The elf's sword clattered to the ground. "Why am I even surprised?" he muttered as he bent down to pick up his sword. "All right, fine, get your staff, just you know… _don't_ ," he said in an exasperated tone and gestured for Dorian to follow him.

"Perish the thought!" Dorian replied and trailed after the elf towards the City of Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of reducing my potential comment count, before you ask, the next chapter will address what, if anything, Dorian already knew about Fenris. But please comment anyway!


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian picked up his pace enough to walk next to the white-haired elf, who sharply turned his head towards the mage. Before he could make any threats, Dorian said in a conciliatory tone, "There, now you don't have to worry about me attacking you from behind." The elf grunted, look forward again, and kept walking.

"So…Danarius," Dorian ventured.

"What _about_ Danarius?" the elf snapped. "I thought you didn't know him."

"Not personally, but by reputation. I…put some things together just now." 

"How clever of you."

"I have to say, I never really believed it. About the lyrium brands, or at least not the abilities they grant you."

"I hope you enjoyed the demonstration."

"I wouldn't mind another one."

The elf stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Dorian like he was a lunatic. 

Dorian laughed. "A less, shall we say, _perilous_ demonstration. Perhaps just through my arm at first. I mean, that _is_ lyrium, yes? As a mage, I'm curious about what it feels like when I'm _not_ distracted by my vital organs being crushed."

The elf shook his head in disbelief and started walking again. "I've had enough magisters experimenting on me for multiple lifetimes. If I ever have a hand in you again, it will be to kill you, so maybe work on avoiding that instead."

Dorian froze for a moment, shook himself mentally, then picked up his pace again to catch up. Once he was back walking abreast of the elf, he said, "You know, I have to say, I'm a little embarrassed now that I'm meeting you."

"I can't imagine why, we've been getting along so well."

Dorian let out a nervous chuckle. "I just mean, after all the stories that I've heard about you, legends practically, I can't recall if I ever heard your name."

The elf snorted, "Why would you have? After all, Danarius was the _real_ subject of your gossip. I was just the living being he tortured for his experiments. Names are for people and horses, not slaves."

Dorian swallowed. "That was…very wrong of us. I'm sorry."

The elf stopped walking again and regarded Dorian with a piercing look. "Which part are you sorry for, mage? That you didn't get my name, or the fact that not one of you ever objected to my torture?"

Dorian was utterly taken aback, but the elf was right. No one ever had. His head dropped in shame. When he looked up again, the elf was still staring at him, but more puzzled than angry now. Dorian took a deep breath and held out his hand, saying gently, "Hello, my name is Dorian Pavus. May I ask your name?"

The elf stared at his hand for a few moments, completely dumbfounded, before giving Dorian's hand a perfunctory shake. "Fenris," he answered, then quickly let go. 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Fenris, and I appreciate you taking the time to escort me to where I need to go."

Fenris paused, then shrugged and resumed walking. "Well, I think I'm beginning to see why you were thrown out of the Imperium."

The pang that struck in Dorian's heart at that image was, much to his own surprise, suddenly overcome with a lightness which soon gathered in his throat as a chuckle he couldn't quite suppress. 

"What is it?" Fenris asked.

Dorian waved his hand as if to brush away the question. "It's nothing, just…depending on how you look at it, you could say—no, no, never mind."

"No? Not even a hint?"

"Well, it's just," Dorian licked his lips nervously through his smile. "You're hardly the first elf to shove his fist inside me."

* * *

"Varric's cousin is a _magister_?" Fenris exclaimed as the pair entered Lowtown.

"Yes. By marriage, of course," Dorian replied. 

"Thank you for clarifying, I had an acute case of 'forgetting how both dwarves and magic work'," Fenris retorted. "But still, marriage? As good as it is to be a dwarf in Tevinter—I mean, there's no way their children could be mages, is there?"

"Bearing children has never been a part of Maevaris's life plans," Dorian said with a certain finality. Fenris considered the options his statement implied, but shortly realized that it wasn't his business. "And anyway," Dorian continued, "I'm afraid Thorold met with an accident a few weeks ago. So she is, of course, occupied at present with plotting her revenge."

"What sort of accident?" 

"He 'fell' off a building in Minrathous."

Fenris tutted, "The capital should really update their building codes. What an embarrassment for them. Anyway," he nodded towards the building they were approaching. "If Varric's not here now, there's always ale while you wait."

Dorian grimaced when he saw the bloody effigy of the hanged man over the entrance of the pub. "What a cheery, welcoming sight to invite patrons into your tavern!" 

Fenris chuckled. "Welcome to The Hanged Man."

"Oh, so it's just truth in advertising. For illiterates." He looked back at Fenris to find that what little warmth his expression had gained over their trek into Kirkwall had vanished. Dorian felt the blood drain from his face. 

"I only started learning to read two years ago," Fenris said stonily. "Care to guess why?"

" _Kaffas_ , Fenris, I didn't mean—"

Fenris threw his head back and laughed. "Maker help me, I could very much get used to this." Dorian now flushed with embarrassment, but joined Fenris with a relieved little chuckle. "Come on, I'm ready for you to be Varric's problem now."

Varric happened to be in his lodgings at that moment, sprawled out on his couch asleep, clearly unintentionally. Fenris murmured to Dorian, "Nobody loves this shithole of a city more than Varric. He's been running himself ragged trying to fix everything and help everyone ever since, well," he made an explosive noise and spread his hands like fireworks. 

"Oh yes, I forgot to ask you on the way in what happened."

Fenris sighed. "You know, Varric really is the storyteller here. But I hate to wake him…"

"We don't have to just yet, do we? Unless I'm very much mistaken, they serve alcohol up front," Dorian said hopefully. 

Fenris considered this briefly. "Aren't you broke?" 

Dorian's face fell. "Oh, right."

"Best to get you sorted out as soon as possible," Fenris decided aloud. _Don't want a desperate, down-on-his-luck magister loose around the alienage_ , he kept to himself for some reason. From behind the couch Fenris reached over and shook Varric by the shoulder.

The dwarf woke up with a jolt, gasping, "Blondie, not again!" 

"Peace, dwarf, it's just me. Well, me and your cousin's wife's neighbor's kid or something."

Varric sat up and asked groggily, "Which cousin?" 

Dorian piped up, "Thorold, late of Qarinus."

"Late? As in…shit, I knew I should have opened Mae's letter right away." He lifted himself off the couch and lurched over to his desk. "But Daisy needed…something for the kid mages…" he trailed off after he found the bright blue envelope in his pile of papers. He tore it open, then unfolded and scanned the letter within. He turned back towards his two visitors, pointing, "You must be Dorian."

With another dramatic bow as before, Dorian made the rest of his introduction, "Of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous," he ended with a roguish smile.

"You look like shit," Varric said.

Dorian seemed to physically recede into himself. "I…beg your pardon?"

"How long were you on the road? Doesn't matter. If you walk out that door, take two rights, there's a door that takes you to the baths. Here," he went over to a cupboard, pulled out two towels, a washcloth, and a bar of soap, tossing them one by one at Dorian, who caught them each in turn.

"A bath would be divine right now. Thank you, Varric." 

"Oh don't get your hopes up, this isn't one of your Tevinter spas, but the water is reasonably clean, and hey, you can heat it up yourself, right?"

Dorian sighed, "I'll take what I can get. Thank you again." 

After he left, Varric held up a finger for Fenris to be quiet until they heard the back door close. "Alright, elf, what do you make of him?"

"Me? I just met him, by complete coincidence, I don't—"

"Yes, and if there is anyone in Thedas who would be less inclined than you to give him even the slightest benefit of the vaguest doubt, they probably have horns. Mae says he's a good kid, but she would. What do _you_ think of him?"

Fenris thought for a minute. "In the extremely limited time that I've known him?" He paused, then faced the truth. "He's tolerable, I suppose. And clearly went through a lot to get here. I think it's safe to say he has no plans to exploit the chaos here. Not that he wouldn't have the power to if he wanted, but…it's unlikely."

Varric nodded. "He tell you why he left home? Mae doesn't say much, 'not her place' and all that."

Fenris smirked slightly. "I think I have a good idea. You know how magisters are about their bloodlines?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think Pavus cares for women, and he _definitely_ enjoys the company of men. He said something about 'making a shitshow of his father's legacy' too."

Varric flopped into his chair. "I don't know, elf. Kirkwall's a long way to come just to find a husband, even if every man in the Imperium is off-limits," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows and a shit-eating grin.

Fenris shrugged. "It could be something else entirely. That's just my best guess based on what I know about him, which I should stress again, isn't very much." 

"I trust your instincts. If you think he's safe—"

"I didn't say that."

"—then it doesn't really matter why he's here instead of back in Tevinter. I mean, does anyone really _need_ a reason to not want to be there?"

Their conversation then drifted off through about a dozen other topics during the nearly 45 minutes it took for Dorian to return from his bath. When he finally did, however, he looked like a different man. With his head held high, one towel slung dangerously low around his hips, the second being used as a bundle for his travel clothes, and a radiant smile, he strut into the room like the peacock of his birthright now glinting on his perfectly sculpted chest.

Even Fenris had to admit, Tevinter breeding had done Dorian _many_ favors.

"I'd apologize for taking so long," he declared breezily, "but _fasta vass_ I am _not_ sorry."

"Hey, whatever it takes to get you back to your sparkling self," Varric chuckled.

Dorian preened.

"Maker, don't you become completely insufferable now," Fenris admonished. "If a layer of dirt is what it takes to make you bearable, I will pack you in sod if I have to."

Dorian flashed a perfect smile at him. "I _knew_ you were starting to like me, Fenris. But of course, who could blame you, with a profile like this?" He drew his forefinger under his chin, pushing it up slightly and angling his head so that Fenris could see exactly what he meant. 

Fenris groaned.

"By the way, how restrictive are the public nudity laws around here?" Dorian asked. 

"Please tell me you're joking," Fenris implored.

"Well," Dorian started, retreating slightly back into the reticence he'd had when Fenris first found him. "The truth is, this is my only set of clothes," he said, hefting the bundle at his side. "And I did wash my smallclothes and stockings in the bath," he added proudly. "However, if these are to be my only clothes for even just a few more days, I'd prefer they be washed by somebody who actually knows what they're doing."

"To be honest, Sparkler," Varric said, "The guard's got their hands pretty full right now to bother with scantily-clad Tevinters. But," he stroked his chin, then turned to Fenris. "You wouldn't happen to have any of Danarius's old clothes in that mansion of yours?"

"Mansion?" Dorian asked. 

Fenris bared his teeth at Dorian in a wicked grin. "Yes, I am living the dream of every slave in Tevinter, to one day rise up, slay their masters, and take over their fancy homes."

Dorian shifted uncomfortably, then cleared his throat, "Er, yes…well done." 

Fenris smirked. "To answer Varric's question, yes, I believe there are still some things of Danarius's you could have."

"Perfect!" Varric effused, turning back to Dorian. "Because while you were in the bath, Fenris suggested you stay with him."

Dorian's face lit up. "Oh, really?"

"Really," Fenris repeated flatly, staring daggers at Varric. 

"Should be easy enough for you to settle in, Sparkler," Varric continued smoothly, like he didn't notice Fenris's deathglare. "It's in Hightown, so you'll fit right in. And Fenris, you think you can ask Orana about washing his clothes and altering Danarius's to fit? Poor girl doesn't know what to do with herself with Hawke gone."

"Who is going to _pay_ her for that work?" Fenris responded with all the venom he couldn't use for the bigger problem of Varric saddling him with a would-be magister. "She's not a _slave_ anymore," he added for Dorian's information and warning.

"Who do you think's been paying her since Hawke left?" Varric countered. "I've got it covered."

"Well!" Dorian said cheerfully, "So glad I can help her feel useful again, and take all of Danarius's old—" he paused and gulped, a look of dread falling over his face "—clothes off your hands, Fenris. I'm sure with Orana's help they'll be…passable." He put on a brave face. "I'm going to go give these clothes a good shake out in the back, get dressed, then I'll be ready to go."

"Great," Fenris muttered as Dorian left the room again. 

"Listen, elf—"

"Varric," Fenris growled. "You have _no_ right to foist this pampered maleficar on me. In _my_ home."

"Calm down, Fenris. Just get him settled. Clothes, a place to sleep—put him in the servants' quarters, that should be fun for you—and in a day or two, take him to see Daisy. He can help her with the kids that were left behind in The Gallows. If it turns out you're right and he's not interested in women, it probably won't take much to convince them to have him move in with her. Besides, weren't you the one protesting just now that you didn't know him well enough to really judge his character? Consider this a secret probation where you can observe him a little longer. And if it turns out he is trouble, you can strangle him in his sleep."

Fenris sighed. "May they make you Viscount one day, dwarf," he spat.

"Well, that was uncalled for," Varric said in mock affront. 

Dorian then reappeared in the doorway and swept into the room. He plopped Varric's towels on the couch, picked up his staff and bedroll from against the wall where he had left them, straightened up and said, "I'm ready to go if you are, Fenris."

Fenris just grunted and nodded.

"Wonderful! Thank you again for all your help, Varric, I am forever in your debt. I'll tell Mae to send you a whole case of Antivan brandy."

"Take care, Sparkler."

As Dorian and Fenris made their way out of The Hanged Man, Dorian asked, "So is anyone _ever_ going to tell me what the disaster here was?"

Fenris growled, "I'm going to need a lot of wine for this."

"Oh, by all means!" Dorian replied enthusiastically. "I bow to your superior judgment in these matters."

Fenris sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains my favorite line I've ever written. Can you guess which it is?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA: The chapter where the world state gets established, and dialogue from DAI first gets repurposed for this setting.

"Let me see if I have this," Dorian said. "He was an abomination, but _not_ a blood mage; a _mage_ who used something damn near close to Qunari blackpowder, if not the real thing, and _not_ magic, to blow up the Chantry; he was an _apostate_ who had never been in The Gallows, but the Knight-Commander _still_ invoked the Right of Annulment, and…there's such a thing as red lyrium."

"And the Prince of Starkhaven has declared war on Kirkwall, so we've got that to look forward to." Fenris took a swig of Aggregio Pavali out of the bottle and handed it to Dorian. "Also, according to Varric's network, Circles all over Southern Thedas are in rebellion." He raised an eyebrow at Dorian. "Aren't you fortunate, Pavus, to have left Tevinter and walked right into the foundational site of a new Imperium?"

Dorian rolled his eyes. "People who have completed their training and proven that they are magically strong enough to resist demons asserting their right to live freely instead of perpetually locked up 'just in case' is not the same as seizing total political control." He handed the bottle back to Fenris.

"Yet," Fenris snarled, then took another swig.

"And what would you say to the magisters who say the same thing about abolishing slavery? That freeing the slaves will mean a rapid overthrow of the Senate and we'll be ruled by the elves?" Dorian held out his hand for the wine.

Fenris snorted and handed the bottle over. "With what? How are we meant to overthrow people who can rain down fire and summon demons?"

"That's exactly the point. It is an irrational paranoia used to justify continuing a system rife with abuses."

"It's an irrational paranoia that the literally powerless masses could possibly take down people who can bend reality to their will, which is why _those_ people need to be contained."

" _You_ killed _your_ master who, if I understand correctly, was a mage!"

"It was a four-on-one fight, and I have abilities that no other slave does."

"So you admit that with numbers and a few tricks up your sleeves, it's possible! Slaves outnumber magisters far more than four-to-one, there are mages among them too, and you can't tell me the Qunari and southern Templars wouldn't send agents…What?

Fenris was laughing. "Or some runaway Altus who is too clever for his own good outlines the path to revolution just to win an argument."

Dorian considered this. "So you're saying I won this argument!" he crowed.

"No," said Fenris, punctuating his point by retrieving the wine from Dorian, "because that's not the argument we were having. You were trying to argue that southern mages won't pursue political dominance, and that the very idea is just as absurd as magisters fearing elven liberati dominance. Except then you started outlining how elven liberati dominance might actually be achieved!"

"I never said it was impossible, just that it's so unlikely that it's a poor argument against abolishing slavery, just like _your_ fear of some kind of southern Magisterium is too unlikely to justify locking up mages!"

"Except there is precedent for liberalizing Circles leading to a total magocracy!"

"Oh, and there is no precedent for a successful slave uprising leading to elves claiming land and founding a country?"

"The Dales fell to Orlais, while magisters still rule the Imperium."

"Then why did you fight on the mages' side?" Dorian asked triumphantly, plucking the bottle from Fenris's grip, and smirked at the elf as he took a mouthful of wine. 

Fenris sighed. "Because…they shouldn't have been punished for what that abomination did acting alone." He grabbed the bottle back. 

Dorian looked at him skeptically. "Mmhmmm…" 

After a pause, Fenris said, "Especially not Bethany." He took a huge gulp of wine, as if trying to drown the words already spoken. 

"Aha! So Mister 'All Mages Want To Be Magisters' harbored—" he gasped dramatically "—tender feelings for just such a girl? Had she bewitched him, or was there truly a place in his heart for such unpredictable creatures? Come now, do tell—romance is a much juicier topic than politics anyway."

"She's Hawke's sister," Fenris said sourly. 

"That doesn't mean anything. It's not like she's _your_ sister." 

"It matters because her brother and I once—" Fenris cut himself off and downed the rest of the bottle.

"Oho! This isn't just juicy, it's downright ambrosiac!"

Fenris activated the brands on his right arm and, with his elbow on the armrest, presented Dorian his middle finger. Dorian burst into gales of laughter and even clapped a few times. After his laughter died down, he reached into the crate of wine for a new bottle.

"What do you think you're doing with my wine, Pavus?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him and said, "I'm not the one who finished off the last bottle when there was still plenty left to share."

"Do I get to prod you about your relationships? Whoop like a spectator at the arena for your 'almost-weres' and 'could-have-beens'?"

Dorian drew a bottle out of the crate but did not move to open it, just rested it on his thigh. "I think you know enough about me by now to know that none of my relationships could ever truly have been. Not in Tevinter, anyway." He kept his tone light but the timbre of his voice sank lower than usual. 

Fenris reached across to take the bottle from Dorian's lap and twisted in the corkscrew. After pulling out the cork, he handed the bottle back to Dorian, who took a swig. "But you left Tevinter. _Alone_ ." Dorian choked on his wine. "Was there no one you could have asked to join you, no one who might, could, _would_ have said yes?"

Dorian held Fenris's gaze, unblinking, intently, for just long enough for the elf to look unnerved. Then Dorian broke their gaze and downed a fifth of the bottle at once. He handed the wine back to Fenris. "Well played," was all he said.

Fenris put the cork back into the bottle, the bottle on to the floor, then leaned back into his chair. "Love is a bitch." 

"No," Dorian said. "Love is beautiful. Doubt is the bitch. You have to fight for what's in your heart, even yourself, if need be." 

"You really believe that?"

"I really do."

"So why did you come to Kirkwall alone?"

Dorian set pensively for a while, then took a deep breath. "Because you don't always get to fight on your own terms. Sometimes your father's thugs start the fight and kill seven guards to drag you from his bed." 

They sat in silence for a while until finally Fenris said, "Fucking Altus family dramas have always got to have a body count, don't they?"

Dorian gave a wry chuckle. "You have no idea." After a pause, he asked, "So where are Hawke and Bethany now?" 

Fenris glared at Dorian, "I neither know you well enough nor am drunk enough to bare my heartache to you, Pavus."

"I told you what happened with me and Rilienus…"

" _No_ ," Fenris said forcefully.

"Just a hint?" Dorian wheedled.

Fenris slapped his hands on the arms of his chair, then pushed himself out of it. He activated the brands all over his body and took a few menacing steps forward to stand in front of Dorian. "I suffered so much getting these damn things that I lost my memories. Then, having just one night of pure bliss with a man I loved somehow started to bring them back. And it terrified me, and I fled like a coward, and I lost him _to the abomination_. Are you satisfied now, mage?"

Dorian was wide-eyed and breathing hard. Fenris deactivated his brands but continue to loom over him. "That must have been awful," Dorian said softly. "To be unable to truly make love. For the more you care about someone to cause you more pain. I understand now."

"Understand what, _Altus_?" Fenris sneered.

Dorian smiled and slid off his chair onto his knees, looking up at Fenris from under his eyelashes. "You need someone you can hate. And weren't you so lucky to find a _desperate_ Tevinter mage who needed a place to sleep, who has only one thing to offer in exchange for your hospitality?" Dorian lifted his hands and brought them to rest on Fenris's hips. "Tell me how you imagined this night going when you decided to invite me to stay. Your most depraved fantasies, whatever you want to do to me, don't hold them back." Dorian looked up at him expectantly.

Fenris went cold, and his realization snuffed out any nascent arousal. "I didn't."

Dorian's brow knitted. "Well, we're already in a good place to start here." He started to untie the laces of Fenris's breeches. 

"No, I mean," he pulled his hips away from Dorian's hands. "I didn't actually invite you. Varric just said I did. I don't know why."

Dorian's face fell and his eyes grew wide in panic. "Maker's breath!" He scrambled backwards, knocking over his chair, climbing over it as he stood up. "I— _fasta vass_ —I am _so_ sorry—I thought—we're drinking, in your bedroom, and—the lyrium makes you smell _so good_ —just, please don't—I mean, I'll just—" he pointed at the doorway, then hurried through it and down the stairs.

Fenris took a few steps after him in a daze, then realized that he had no idea what he would say or even what result he truly wanted to achieve. He turned around, grabbed the bottle of wine he had opened for Dorian, and fell face-first into his bed. He was going to _kill_ Varric.

* * *

Dorian eventually ended up in what looks like the servants' quarters. He had meant to leave the mansion, maybe find his way back to The Hanged Man and hope Varric wouldn't ask questions. Then he remembered his staff was in Fenris's room, and he literally couldn't afford to leave without it. So he turned around, and in an effort to avoid the main foyer entirely and getting lost in the maze of the house, he stumbled into this room next to the kitchen with a row of musty old cots. He sat down on the cleanest looking one and put his head in his hands.

 _Even if he had invited me_ , Dorian berated himself, _it wouldn't necessarily have meant—_

He just thought that he'd seen a flicker of interest in Fenris's eyes after he made the comment about other elves' fists inside him. And he was so sure that Fenris had approved of the sight of him just out of the bath.

They had been _drinking_. In his _bedroom_. They had been discussing _past lovers_. They had established they were both interested in _men_. In Tevinter, that was basically what passed for courtship between men, even without the excuse of a _quid pro quo_ for Fenris's hospitality.

And the things he'd said, implied he was prepared to do. He could have played off the fisting comment as a one-time tasteless and obscene joke, but he'd _knelt_ before the elf, told Fenris he could do whatever he wanted. If Fenris had been from the South—but no, Fenris _had_ to be from Tevinter. He just _had_ to know what the full extent of Dorian's proclivities really meant. Why he preferred the slums away from prying eyes and the indiscreet whores who serviced all the other Altus, why Alexius would never do more than kiss him and buy him lavish gifts, why his father had killed the man who had physically pulled him out from under Rilienus… 

As the tears started to fall, Dorian kept repeating in his head what, over the years, had become almost his mantra. _Just because I'm not ashamed doesn't mean I want anyone to know…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, we're doing the Tevinter=Rome=strict social hierarchy of topping and bottoming thing. What can I say, I have an _infamia_ kink. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (So yes, theboyisabottom.gif)
> 
> Also, I'm debating whether to let these two have sex before having feelings 🤔


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning in this chapter for discussion of sexual relations with slaves.

Fenris grabbed an armful of robes from Danarius's wardrobe and tossed them on the floor. He'd meant to clear these out and sell them (or burn them) over the years, but never seemed to get around to it. Now that he actually had a reason to deal with them, he might as well be thorough. He started digging through the lower drawers and throwing everything on the pile. At least he had other things he could actually think about while doing so, even if it was yet more Tevinter bullshit.

He was now certain about Dorian's reasons for leaving the Imperium. Dorian was, after all, far from the first Altus disinclined towards reproduction, nor would he have been the first to refuse to go through with it. It may have caused him problems with his family, a few titters and some gossip behind hands at parties, but once he established himself as a magister, took on a promising apprentice or two, people would lose interest. But Dorian had apparently violated one of Tevinter's greatest taboos. The part that demanded the strict social hierarchy be upheld even in the most private of one's private life, even in one's debaucheries. Or to put it more simply (and literally) that in Tevinter, the top stay on top and the bottom stay on bottom.

It went beyond mere social taboo, though from what Fenris knew it had been centuries since its legal form had been invoked: _Infamia_. By law, just about every social or political privilege Dorian had could be stripped from him if his offenses were deemed a severe enough transgression against the 'natural' order of things. Altus above Laetan above Soporati above Liberati above slaves. Humans and dwarves above elves and qunari. But even if the legal consequences were rarely if ever enforced anymore, there were still consequences for discovery. Fenris still remembered the whispers—about how Magister X doesn't get invited to parties anymore because one of the whores at one of Magister Y's brothels told Y that X had had her use 'implements' on him that were usually reserved for the female patrons, or that Magister Z resigned because it was discovered that his Tal-Vashoth bodyguard 'had duties more fitting that of a bull than an ox'. So Fenris was now satisfied that Dorian was no mere spoiled brat throwing a tantrum by playing runaway. Spoiled brat, yes, but not the rest of it. That did not, however, make him feel any better about Dorian's continued presence in his house.

He gathered up the pile of clothes from Danarius's old room and dumped them unceremoniously over the railing onto the floor of the foyer then stalked across the landing to the third bedroom. It had last been Hadriana's room, though Danarius had had other apprentices before her. It didn't really matter what sort of clothes were in there, Fenris was finally going to purge all of them from his house. Even the ones Dorian chose to keep, because Maker's _balls_ , Fenris was going to be rid of him as soon as possible.

It wasn't just that Dorian's sexual interest in men was taboo to express with men of his own class (though certain temporary assignations would typically be overlooked), it was that there was no one with whom an Altus could safely perform the precise sort of acts Dorian seemed most interested in. Dorian could penetrate whoever he wanted, but there was no one socially acceptable for Dorian to be penetrated by. So to have indulged those tastes, especially with any regularity, meant basically one of two things: Dorian either paid extra for his 'partners'' silence on these matters, or he _owned_ their silence.

It wasn't that Fenris had had any expectations otherwise. Of course the Pavus family owned slaves, to serve _all_ of their needs, but to be so starkly reminded… _Kaffas_ , it had never bothered him when Isabela had made lascivious comments about Danarius keeping him 'within reach' at all times. Probably because when he asserted to her that he was Danarius's bodyguard, she had no real way of knowing whether Danarius had ever crossed the boundaries of his stated duties. But Dorian—Dorian would know. That, to Fenris's own shame, even more so than the likelihood that Dorian had his own slave for this purpose, was what made Dorian's continued presence here so unbearable.

Fenris kicked the pile of clothes from Hadriana's room down the stairs, then headed off to trawl the other rooms for any other extant clothing.

It wasn't even about the sex, really. For one thing, it was true that it wasn't one of Fenris's typical duties. Danarius had other slaves for that. It was only on Seheron, where he had only had Fenris, where Fenris had been expected to perform every task Danarius 'needed'. For another thing, despite Danarius's innuendo to Hawke about how 'talented' he was, the truth was that Danarius was so sorely lacking in imagination that he frankly must have confused 'lack of adequate preparation' with Fenris making even the slightest effort to 'please' him. It was easy for Fenris, expected as he was to just lie there, doing less work than what Danarius's own hand would have had to do to achieve the same result, to lock that all away and not to give it too much weight in his memories. No, the problem for Fenris was that even Dorian's offer to service _him_ sexually just reminded him of that Maker-forsaken island, and the sway Danarius still held over him.

There was a split second during their final confrontation, when Danarius had attempted to negotiate with Hawke for his return, that Fenris knew in the pit of his stomach that, had Hawke agreed to it, Fenris would have gone with Danarius quietly. Not even out of any sense of betrayal, just because of that tiny corner of his mind that told him he would always be a slave. The part of him that slaughtered the Fog Warriors who had cared for him and protected him the second Danarius ordered him to.

The same part of his mind had perverted the tiniest shred of sympathy he had for Dorian into a desire—no, an _instinct_ , to serve the pampered outcast. And had the mage worded his overtures just slightly differently, he probably would have given in and done whatever the mage asked him to do, even though those overtures were framed as submission. Worst of all, Fenris had a hard time imagining a life in which he could ever truly make that decision for himself, even if he really wanted to (because yes, fucking an Altus as he begged Fenris to destroy his hole was an exceedingly appealing image), and he hated the mage for broaching the topic first.

Fenris pushed into the last room he had to search for spare clothes, the servants' quarters, and was surprised to see Dorian curled up on one of the cots. More specifically, he was baffled by what Dorian was doing _while_ curled up on his cot; the best description Fenris could come up with was "violently sleeping". This was no normal twitching or stirring in one's sleep. Dorian was shaking, practically vibrating, and muttering rapidly under his breath. Fenris stood frozen, watching and trying to decide the best course of action, when suddenly a burst of hot air radiated out from Dorian's sleeping form and across the room. Once the air settled, Dorian had gone quiet. He had curled in tighter upon himself, and was still shaking—no, shivering slightly. After a few more moments, Fenris decided to try waking the mage.

A few shakes of his shoulder and Dorian's eyes snapped open. "Fenris!" he called out, a note of confusion in his voice, eyes darting around the room, before finding his bearings and relaxing. He melted back into the cot, still clutching the blankets to himself. He let out a long breath that ended with "Maker preserve us." A few more deep breaths and he looked at Fenris. "You wouldn't happen to have any lyrium potions, would you?"

"No."

"No, of course not. But," Dorian bit his lip before proceeding, "I don't suppose your brands—"

"Are you in imminent danger of becoming an abomination or burning down my house or in any other way inconveniencing me if you don't replenish your mana immediately?"

"Er, no," Dorian replied sheepishly. "I can just rest."

"What was that all about?" Fenris interrogated him.

Dorian waved a hand around in a carefree manner. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with. I'm fine, your house will be fine, please feel free to ignore me and continue to go about your day."

"If that was a demon, I'd say it is my concern."

Dorian sighed. " _Was_ being the operative word. I took care of it."

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "I never saw Danarius go through anything like that."

"Well, far be it from me to cast any aspersions on the fine reputation of your late master," Dorian said with some irritation, "but _certain_ schools of magic, with prolonged use, affect a mage's ability to access the Fade naturally."

Fenris stood there silently a few moments with his arms crossed. Was Pavus really trying to suggest that he didn't practice blood magic? Well, they always did try to deny it, even in Tevinter. That's probably what the 'prolonged use' comment was about. He was just too young for it to have had that effect on him yet. "Fine, whatever you say, Pavus." After a pause, he started, "I've—"

"Could—" Dorian started to say at the same time. "Oh, pardon me, what were you going to say?"

"No, you go ahead."

"Well, I was just going to ask, if you wouldn't mind, if you could take a few more blankets off the other cots and lay them on top of me?"

Fenris suppressed a surge of rage. "You can't do it yourself, Altus?"

"No, I just meant—" Dorian looked away from Fenris and said meekly, "I'm just cold, it's fine, you don't have to."

"No. I don't." Fenris retorted. "And what I was going to say is that _I've_ spent the morning gathering all the spare clothes I could find in this house for _you_. Most of them are in the main foyer, but the last pile is in this room," Fenris jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the room he had come from. "It won't strain you beyond your abilities to bring those out to the foyer yourself?" Dorian shook his head. "Good. I'm going to see Varric and run some other errands. I'll come back with Orana, so you should be prepared for her to start washing and altering the clothes you want to keep. Don't keep her waiting around because you couldn't be bothered to get out of bed before noon."

"No, of course not," Dorian mumbled.

"Good. I will be gone no more than two hours," Fenris declared before turning around and heading towards the door to Hightown, sneering at the memory of the delicate Altus's shivering form.

* * *

"Oh, poor thing," Merrill cooed. "Sounds like he had a run-in with a Despair demon."

 _Shit_. "He's a Tevinter mage, the son of a magister. He owns slaves. He's not a 'poor thing'," Fenris growled. He'd almost brought up the whole blood magic thing until he remembered who he was talking to.

"Demons don't care who your father is," Merrill told him gently. "And fighting them off always takes it out of you."

"He still had no right to—" Fenris paused, having trouble finishing the sentence.

"What, ask you for another blanket that you would have had to take all of two steps to get for him?" Varric supplied with a note of amusement.

" _After_ he asked if he could use my lyrium to replenish his mana."

Varric laughed. "'No, dying man in the desert, you can't have my water, because when I was a slave, my master had me carry his water all the time! Now I carry water for no man but myself!'"

"It's not the same thing! For better or worse, this lyrium is a part of my body, and I have every right to deny him access to it!"

"I'm not saying you don't, just thinking you may have overreacted to an innocent request. Unless," Varric got serious, "he didn't, ah, request access to any other parts of your body last night, did he?"

"Actually he did, but I blame you for that."

"Me?" Varric exclaimed. "Elf, I think you should talk to someone about your misplaced blame issues."

"You're the one who told him it was my idea he stay with me. He decided that that was, well, his payment, I suppose."

Varric burst out into laughter.

"I fail to see what's so funny, dwarf."

"Well that depends, did you accept his 'payment'?"

" _No_ ," Fenris said. "I explained there had been a miscommunication, and he ran out of the room."

Varric looked up at the ceiling and sighed, "Oh elf, what are we going to do with you?"

"Me? Why did you tell him I invited him? Why have him stay with me at all?"

"I don't know, maybe because you have all that room _and_ spare Tevinter clothes _and_ I didn't want him to feel like he was being held in the custody of the man who had basically marched him into Kirkwall at knifepoint? But shit, I didn't think he'd take it to mean he had to whore himself out to you."

"I wouldn't worry about that. He actually seemed pretty keen on that part."

"Oh I get it, you're just cranky you blew your chance to get laid last night, and you took it out on the guy _you_ rejected."

"That's not it at all!"

"Oh, I think that's at least part of it," Merrill commented.

Fenris glared at her. "Since when do you pick up on 'dirty things'?"

Merrill huffed, "I know what 'whore' means, Fenris. I'm not _that_ naive."

"Don't you have a future generation of abominations to be teaching?"

"Yes," she replied primly. "I just stopped by to get the elfroot Varric ordered for me. I do miss being able to gather it myself, but there's too many children for what few weeds grow here in the city."

Varric picked up a burlap sack and handed it to Merrill. "Here you go, Daisy."

"Thank you, Varric. How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it, Daisy."

"Dwarf, you are going to go broke and destroy the economy of Kirkwall in one fell swoop," Fenris admonished.

Varric sighed. "If you could just bottle all the not-poisonous batches of potions you and the kids brew, Daisy, I can sell them and share the profits with you."

"I'd be happy to do that!" Merrill beamed at him. "You are such a good friend, Varric."

Varric smiled. "You too, Daisy. And when would be a good day to have Fenris bring around Sparkler?"

"Oh, any day really. Maybe after Fenris has slept with him, so they're both in a good mood."

Varric laughed. Fenris made a disgusted noise. Merrill bade her final farewell and left.

"So," Varric addressed Fenris, "aside from your terrible bedside manner of both varieties, any further assessments of our new friend?"

Fenris scowled. "No. I mean, I am satisfied about the sincerity of his reasons for leaving Tevinter and don't expect him to go back anytime soon. He poses _negative_ threat to Merrill's innocence, so at least as far as that's concerned, the sooner he's out of my house, the better."

"'As far as that's concerned'? Is there some other concern you have?" Varric asked.

Fenris pondered how to answer this question for a moment. Most of his concerns were more personal, but in general…"I just want to be sure he won't treat her like a slave."

"Right, wouldn't want him asking her for burn cream after fighting off a Rage demon."

Fenris glared at him. "Just because I may have misread that one situation doesn't mean he won't fall into the habit of ordering around the nearest elf he sees."

"Well, good thing you're bringing Orana around today, then. You can make further observations."

Fenris bristled. "Every day I have to look after this brat is another day slavers prey on the chaos around here unchecked."

"Fenris, give Aveline and the guard some credit."

"The guard doesn't know Tevinter fighting techniques like I do!"

"Good point, if only someone had taught the guard Tevinter fighting techniques when she asked him to, instead of insisting that no one benefit from something he volunteered for over a decade ago." Varric folded his arms across his chest and gazed steadily at Fenris.

Fenris was taken aback. "I didn't know I had volunteered when she—"

"You do now, but you still wouldn't give Sparkler a pick-me-up after he fought off a fucking demon this morning."

"I didn't know that when he—"

"Yeah, funny how that works, I think I'm beginning to see a pattern."

Fenris fumed, "I have _every right_ —"

"And _I_ have every right to price gouge this entire city and take every last copper for even basic needs that are impossible to get right now," Varric stated with conviction. "But I would rather go broke and help as many people as possible, and risk that a few of them may be assholes, than cling to my gold because, boo-hoo, I almost died on that expedition into the Deep Roads almost a decade ago!"

"It's not the same."

"It's close enough."

"It's _my body_."

"Does he have to fuck it out of you for it to work?"

"That's not the point!"

"No, the point is that you withhold your abilities to spite your dead master."

"Good _bye_ , Varric." And Fenris stormed out of the dwarf's lodgings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you tell Varric not to be nice, he'll show you him not being nice.
> 
> (Is it cliché to have people giving Fenris shit for being mean to Dorian? Maybe, but if you can tell me what else Merrill and Varric would do in most situations besides "be a cinnamon roll" and "tell you to chill out and maybe try not be a dick" respectively, let me know. Anyway, Dorian will get 100% justified shit soon, I promise)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today, because they are basically two halves of a whole, and tbh the chapter break on this one will seem trite if it just ends there.
> 
> Content warning for discussion of sex slavery/concubinage.

_"Dorian, you can't submit to them at night and expect them to respect you in the morning."_

_"Alexius, I can understand that logic when it comes to one's own slaves, or even those of a close friend, if you spend a lot of time in their household. But I fail to see how it matters with whores. You are paying them for a service. There is an implied mutual respect there as with any business transaction. A basic 'let's not alienate each other when each of us has what the other wants' sort of respect."_

_"Maker help us, Dorian, whores especially are not your equals."_

_Dorian huffed, "I suspect that several of Tevinter's problems are rooted in the idea that one can't respect one's social inferiors. Say what you will about the Qunari, but there is some wisdom in being grateful to the people doing the unglamorous work that still needs to be done."_

_"The Qunari? Now I know you're just trying to rile me up, Dorian," Alexius rejoined. "Our society depends on everyone knowing their place, and it is our place as Altus to reinforce it even in our most intimate interactions..._

Dorian groaned as his old debate with Alexius's came floating back to him after Fenris left. _That's not why Fenris was acting the way he was_ , Dorian retorted to his memory. Fenris had many reasons to dislike him generally, and be touchy this morning in particular. He opened his home, or at least had allowed his friend to open his home, to a Tevinter mage (already two reasons Fenris found fault with him), only to find him fighting off a demon in the morning like he was some kind of _child_. Plus, as Fenris seemed most annoyed about, he'd spent the morning doing tedious housekeeping on Dorian's behalf, enough to annoy anyone, let alone an ex-slave. Besides, it was not as if Fenris had particularly respected him before Dorian had made a fool of himself the previous night. 

This reasoning, solid though it was, did little to assuage his sense of obligation to feel ashamed.

He was still exhausted and freezing from fighting off the Despair demon, but he knew if he let himself fall back asleep, there was a good chance he would sleep through the next two hours, giving Fenris yet another reason to be annoyed with him. He sat up, head spinning. _Kaffas_ , he may not have lyrium potions, but surely Fenris had coffee? Kirkwall may be pretty far south, but it _was_ a major trading hub.

Dorian stood up, keeping his thin, musty blanket wrapped tight around him, and tried to summon a wisp to give him some light. No, he was still tapped out from the demon. He sighed. Instead of heading for the kitchen, which he knew would be just as dark, he felt his way towards the door Fenris had come through, and pushed into the next room. He nearly tripped on the pile of clothes Fenris had left there, picked them up, and made his best guess as to where the foyer was until, at last, he entered the beautiful sunlit room.

Well, the sunlight coming through the windows in the ceiling was beautiful. The room itself, not so much. Especially the piles of clothes strewn about everywhere! Fenris had made it sound like he had carefully sorted and laid out the clothes for him, not just thrown them about willy-nilly! 

Dorian caught himself before he got too worked up. No, that's what he had pictured, not what Fenris had said. Fenris had done him the favor of getting all the clothes out of storage and into one place. Dorian could do the rest of the sorting by himself. He knew leaving home would mean having to do more things for himself. He would show Fenris he wasn't the useless parasite the elf expected.

* * *

Fenris was still in a foul mood by the time he knocked on the door of the Hawke Estate. It wasn't the first time he'd stopped by since Hawke left ( _with the abomination_ , he failed to keep himself from adding), but it never got much easier. Today, his errand was a particularly unpleasant one. Not that he didn't like Orana. Well, if he was honest, he didn't. He was protective of her, but he dreaded spending any amount of time with her. If ever there was an ex-slave who could not shake the slave mentality, it was Orana. Yet here he was, about to deliver her into the service of, for all intents and purposes, another magister.

As usual, Bodahn opened the door. "Hello, Serah Fenris. Lovely to see you this fine day!"

Fenris grunted as he stepped inside, "Hello, Bodahn. Still no luck arranging passage to Val Royeaux?"

Bodahn sighed. "Not yet. Messere Tethras is looking into arranging an overland trip to Cumberland, and we'd be able to board a ship there, but of course safety is our main concern. Still, we've been able to get word to and from Empress Celene's court, and they've been most understanding. It seems the Court Enchanter is a staunch Circle Loyalist and finds all this rebellion, well, revolting," he chuckled. "So she is holding open Sandal's position for as long as we need."

"Good, good," said Fenris, not really listening. "Is Orana ready?" he asked.

"Almost, ser," came Orana's muffled voice.

Fenris walked out of the entryway into the foyer to find Orana head-down in Hawke's storage chest next to his writing desk and piles of clothes on either side of it. She straightened up at the sound of Fenris's armor and smiled at him. "Messere Tethras told me to bring over some of Master Hawke's clothes to the magister. This chest holds so much more than you'd think!"

Fenris bristled. "He's not a magister, Orana, don't treat him like one. And did Messere Tethras say anything about what you're supposed to tell Ma– Hawke where his clothes are when he comes back?"

"Most of these are clothes Master Hawke would never wear. He has a lot of mage robes for some reason, always did, even before Master Anders moved in. And Master Anders never wore them either.

" _Never_ call the abomination 'Master' in my presence ever again," Fenris warned Orana.

"I am so sorry, serah! I promise I will never fail you so again, please accept my wretched forgiveness."

Fenris sighed. "It's alright, Orana. It wasn't that serious. Look, this seems like plenty. You go get your sewing kit and laundry supplies, I'll get this sorted out."

Orana scurried off and Bodahn helped him bundle up the mage robes to carry to his mansion. He then assured Orana when she returned that he would tidy up and put away all the other clothes that were strewn about.

As they made their way from the Hawke Estate to Fenris's mansion, Orana carrying her sewing and laundry supplies in a big metal washtub, Fenris with the bundle of clothes over his shoulder, Fenris tried his best to prepare Orana to meet Dorian. "He may be from an Altus family, but he's left all that behind. Here in Kirkwall, he's just another human, do you understand? Don't let him order you around."

"But I always do as humans order, don't you?"

"No," Fenris said firmly. "Just—remember that Varric is the one actually paying you, alright? What did Messere Tethras tell you to do for Pavus?"

"He said to help Lord Dorian with his clothes and whatever else he needs to get settled."

Fenris sighed again. He was really going to have to give Varric lessons and how to word things to Orana. "Alright, so whenever Varric says 'help', he means—" As they walked into the mansion entryway, Fenris found himself at a loss for words. Something was different. Not radically so, but even without being able to put his finger on it, he could feel it, literally, in his skin. He was surrounded by a pervasiveness of low-level magic he hadn't experienced since leaving Tevinter.

Once in the foyer, Fenris understood why. Dozens of little mindless wisps darted around. Several full-sized wraiths—shaped exactly like Dorian—were wearing the outfits that Dorian had apparently decided to keep. But perhaps the most unnerving part—

"Pavus!" Fenris called out to the mage, who was nowhere to be seen.

"Just a moment!" he called back, much to Fenris's chagrin, from Fenris's bedroom. He came out onto the landing, wearing a simple but no less striking sleeveless black belted tunic and form-fitting black leggings, freshly shaven save for his newly trimmed and waxed mustache, and his hair now meticulously styled. He moved with a jaunty gait, a sway in his hips that declared himself the Maker's gift to both magic and men, as well as the Maker's cruelest joke on women.

"What are you doing in my room?" Fenris demanded. 

Dorian leaned languidly on the railing. "Nothing untowards, my fine host, just shelving all the books scattered about this place. I don't suppose you'd be willing to lend me your copy of the Canticle of Shartan? It is totally banned in Tevinter without the benefit of being erotic, so it is truly impossible to find—"

"Pavus," Fenris interrupted. "Did you…sweep? Dust? Some kind of cleaning around here?" 

Dorian laughed. "Nothing so strenuous as that. I'm sure it will shock you to learn that my education in housekeeping magic has been rather poor, but several small, controlled tornadoes accomplish much the same thing."

"Oh," said Fenris, without a trace of the usual edge in his voice. "Thank you." 

"I assure you, it was entirely self-serving, but if you still wish to marvel at my ingenuity, I won't stop you." 

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Of course," he replied, edge sharp as ever.

Dorian smiled roguishly at Fenris, then his eyes drifted over to the small female elf cowering behind him. "And this must be the Lady Orana I've heard so much about." Orana gasped and dropped her washtub with a clatter. She muttered frantic apologies as she stooped down to pick it up.

"Don't patronize her, Pavus," Fenris snapped. "Or is it beyond your towering intellect to simply be courteous to someone who is _doing you a favor_ without bringing mocking titles into it?"

Dorian huffed as he began descending the stairs. "If you think a man as fashionable as myself needs any scolding to be respectful to his seamstress, you must know so very many badly dressed people." 

"What's the name and birthday of your seamstress back home?" Fenris retorted. 

"Her name is Lutana, and she doesn't know the exact day, but she was born in Solis, 9:11 Dragon."

Fenris grunted begrudgingly.

Dorian grinned at Fenris, then turned to Orana. Before he could say anything, however, Orana piped up, "I had an older sister named Lutana. I don't remember her very well, though. Papa said she was sold to be a magister's concubine." Then she suddenly clammed up and muttered, "I apologize for speaking out of turn, Lord Dorian."

"Not at all, not at all," he said gently and reached out to rub her shoulder. "Do you…know anything else about the magister who bought her?"

Orana's brow knit as she searched her memory. "Papa said the magister who bought her was a good man. That if she pleased him, she would have a good life."

"A good magister? There aren't too many of those around. That should narrow the list down considerably," Dorian smiled at Orana. "I'm sure she's had a very good life." 

Orana smiled back at him. "I'm happy to hear that."

Fenris scowled slightly and dropped the bundle of Hawke's clothes. "I have to go speak to the guard-captain about something. Don't burn the house down while I'm gone." His blood was pounding too hard in his ears to discern their farewells.

* * *

Sitting in the pews of the temporary Chantry in the Viscount's Keep, in the room where Hawke had killed the Arishok in single combat, Fenris half-listened to the Canticle being sung, half-meditated on the Canticle of Shartan.

> _The armies of the Maker marched to the heart of the Imperium.  
>  They looked upon those gates guarded by the Juggernauts of old  
>  And despaired, for surely neither army nor god could oppose such might._

He had stopped by the guard barracks on the way in. Aveline had been occupied in her office, but Donnic informed him that, as he had feared would happen without his own independent patrol, a small band of slavers managed to abscond with about a dozen victims earlier that day. As much as the news made him want to fly back to his mansion, grab Dorian, then track down the slavers and trade the Altus for those dozen souls, he knew they were probably well out of reach by now. He even begrudgingly admitted to himself that Dorian carried no direct blame, just poor timing, even if the class of his birth were the ones driving the demand for slaves. 

> _Maferath went to his wife and said:  
>  "In the hills lies a silver pool where they say  
>  The Voice of Heaven can be heard most clearly.  
>  Let us go together and hear the Maker's Will."_

As much as it irked him to think so, he supposed it was better that he hadn't gainsaid Dorian's assertion that Orana's sister has had a good life as a concubine. Even if it wasn't factually true, what good would it have been to say to this young woman, 'Actually, no, your sister has spent her life being raped, day in and day out, if she's lucky only by the one man, though in all likelihood she got "too old" for him a decade ago and he probably sold her to one of the mid-range brothels.' And even if that was exactly what had happened to her, it _was_ still a more comfortable existence than in the mines or on the sugar plantations or, for Fenris's money, any in which you ended up as a blood sacrifice.

 _"He who asks for the mercy of the masters  
Will…be made example for the slaves of other cities,  
That they might not have the courage to rise up."_

Still, it infuriated him that Dorian had perpetuated the rosier image to Orana, who had otherwise been spared the harsh wisdom of experience. His crack about the rarity of good magisters showed a refreshing awareness he hadn't previously evinced, but was it just another way of reassuring Orana that her sister had gotten "lucky"? Were all of his comments about her sister's fate just to be nice, or did he genuinely believe them too? Did he believe it about his 'pet' that he'd probably had back home?

_"A dog might slink back to the hand it has bitten  
And be forgiven, but a slave never.  
If you would live, and live without fear, you must fight." _

Fenris looked up at the statue of Andraste that had been gifted to Kirkwall by, appropriately enough, their soon-to-be invader, the Prince of Starkhaven. He didn't know if it was meant as a peace offering or because Sebastian genuinely couldn't bear the idea of a community of the faithful lacking an Andraste statue, but here it was. Despite his conversations with Sebastian, his own quiet contemplations, and listening to (and more recently, reading) the Chant of Light, he never got that sense of peace from it that's so many did.

> _Hope abandoned the armies of the faithful  
>  At the sight of their Lady in chains. And a terrible cry  
>  Rose from the field like the wailing of lost children. _

Andraste and Shartan, they were slaves, and none of the free faithful would ever have any idea what that truly meant. What it meant for even one's blood and one's memories to be always under the command of another, for even one's choices to be always at the discretion of another. To never feel sure that your life will ever be your own, to aid without serving, to love without compromise, to fuck without obligation, to fight according to your own conscience. That was what the armies of Andraste and Shartan had been fighting for. Not to glorify the Maker or to deliver Andraste to His side. It was a war to reclaim not just their own bodies but also their own souls, for _themselves_ more than for any god. No, the Chant did not bring him peace. The Chant called him to war.

> _The Liberator drew the blade at his side  
>  And charged the pyre, the freedom of the Prophet before his eyes _…

He stood up and strode out of the Chantry, down the long outer room, into the foyer of the Keep. Turning left, he stalked into the guard barracks and barged into Aveline's office, interrupting her chewing out of some scared-looking guard. 

_"Why are you to come upon us alone,  
Wearing the armor of our most hated foe,  
When I can see you are no man of the legion?"  
And Shartan answered him: "If you hate the legion,  
Then I am your friend." _

"I want to train the guard in Tevinter fighting techniques."

_And Andraste said:  
"It is done. We march as one." _

* * *

With that out of the way, Fenris now determined to confront Dorian about the bronto in the room, Tevinter slave to Tevinter noble. He would take Orana home, then he and Dorian would have it out. 

The last thing he expected to see when he walked into his foyer, draped in clothesline and drip-drying clothes and bedsheets, was Dorian on his knees, arms around Orana's midsection and sobbing into her stomach. 

"What's going on here?" Fenris demanded. 

"Oh Fenris, what else would it be? My Lutana is her sister."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orana exists as a name IRL in some Australian Aboriginal language, so I picked a name for her sister from another Australian Aboriginal language. Lutana means "moon", so having her born in Solis ("sun") is a really deep cut of a joke.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for continued discussion of sex slavery/concubinage, and mentioned sex between two minors of the same age (15). Also, reference to what could be interpreted as religion-based conversion therapy.
> 
> Shit's getting heavy, y'all.

Fenris and Orana walked back to the Hawke Estate in relative silence. Dorian had asked Orana to let him tell Fenris the whole story, which she naturally agreed to. What she did tell Fenris right before entering the house was, "She _is_ alive and safe and Lord Dorian said her conversation and her sewing gave him all the pleasure he ever needed from her." For the second time that day, Fenris allowed Orana to think the world and the people in it were more virtuous than they really were.

Once back in his foyer, Fenris just yelled, "Pavus, what the fuck?"

Once again, Dorian's voice came from his bedroom. "There's only one room in this house with two chairs and wine, which if you ask me is the bare minimum of what this conversation needs."

By the time Dorian had finished that sentence, Fenris was in the room with him. Dorian proferred the bottle of wine he had been nursing. Fenris took a swig and sat down. "So, Lutana." 

"Right, there could only be so many Lutanas in the world, yes? So I figured, there must be something else, something Orana doesn't realize she knows, or an angle I'm not seeing. Eventually, I asked her if she had always been owned by Hadriana, and she said, 'no, Hadriana bought the rest of us at the same time as the other magister bought Lutana.' I recalled my Lutana saying she had been sold because her previous master, Magister Cinnameus, had fallen on hard times and had to sell all of his slaves to pay his creditors. So I asked Orana if she remembered her first master's name."

"And she said Cinnameus," Fenris finished for him, and he handed Dorian the wine.

Dorian nodded excitedly and took a swig. 

"But you said Lutana was your seamstress. Orana seemed pretty certain her sister was destined for concubinage."

Dorian stared at Fenris like he was an idiot.

"Ohhh, so your father…"

"…bought me a 'pet' for my 15th birthday, like a good and loving Altus father does, yes." Dorian grimaced and downed another mouthful of wine before handing it back to Fenris.

"Did you not tell him you wanted to exchange her for the other variety?"

"You think he didn't already know? Please Fenris, I had shamed my ancestors in the Circle Chantry long before I reached 15. No, his theory was that I just needed to…'practice'."

The wine bottle stopped on its way to Fenris's lips. "'Practice'?"

"Yes, that if I just…gave it a go, I'd see that it 'felt just as good', at least enough to sire an heir or two." Dorian snorted, "As if that's anything _like_ what 'feels good' to me. Anyway, when I refused to touch her, Father reassigned her as my seamstress. After telling her for the third time or so 'that isn't how you measure legs or hips', she burst into tears, telling me that she was terrified that if she couldn't seduce me, she'd be beaten or sold to someone worse. So I made my father swear to me in front of her that that wouldn't happen."

"And your father kept his word?" Fenris passed the wine back to Dorian.

"It's like Orana's father said," Dorian gave Fenris a sad smile. "My father was a good man." He shrugged. "Or he hoped that my familiarity with her and her familiarity with my nude form would eventually lead to something anyway."

"Alright, so you know Orana's sister. You still haven't explained why you were on the floor clutching her and crying your eyes out when I came back this evening."

"Haven't I? No I suppose I haven't." Dorian took a deep drink of the wine. "When Orana told me how the rest of her family died, I just couldn't help but imagine my dear Lutana being savagely bled to death in a blood ritual." His voice began to crack. "I may have gone a little over the top." He chuckled dismissively.

There it was again, Dorian's apparent distaste for blood magic, with much more visceral emotion this time. But did that really prove anything, when that strong reaction was evoked by the imagined loss of a pet? Because that _was_ what she was to him, even though he never slept with her. He still called her " _my_ Lutana", still had his father swear only _to him_ that _she_ wouldn't be harmed. Plenty of people kept animals as pets while still eating meat, attachment to one slave did not ensure the safety of any others. 

But seeing as how they had somewhat backed into the topic Fenris had meant to discuss with him anyway, he decided to ask Dorian the question he had intended to open with. "Do you support abolishing slavery, Pavus?"

Dorian casually tilted his head, as if in thought and not deliberately trying to avoid Fenris's gaze. "I can't say I ever really gave it much thought, to be honest, aside from being aware that the debate exists and some of the broader arguments on both sides. I _do_ believe there should be more effective protections against cruel treatment—"

Fenris snorted. "Oh, you're one of _those_. Of course you are." 

"One of what?"

"You believe you treat your slaves _well_. _Humanely_. A few lashes for correction instead of a savage beating. They get to keep their children unless you _really_ need the money. I'll bet your father is _gentle_ when he fucks _his_ concubine, and maybe even lets her come. And your family only bleeds them to within an inch of their lives to fuel your spells, but of course that just means it takes more of them to—"

"I _don't_!" Dorian burst out. "I don't practice blood magic! Blood magic is…the resort of a weak mind," he said with a certain tightness in his voice, almost as if he were trying to keep from crying. Fenris could almost swear his eyes even looked wetter, until Dorian closed them and started taking deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he stood up and added with perfect, practiced diction, "And I absolutely will _not_ be held responsible for the sins of my father." Then he strode towards the door.

Fenris jeered at his back, "I thought your father was a 'good man'."

Dorian halted, almost out the door, turned his head just enough for Fenris to see his profile, and croaked, " _Was_." He left Fenris's room and shortly after, Fenris heard the door of the former apprentices' room slam. 

Later, Fenris heard the door quietly _click_ open and very careful steps going down the stairs. Then, the rustle of laundry being taken down from the clothesline in the foyer, followed by the careful steps returning to Dorian's room.

Fenris entered the room shortly thereafter with the Canticle of Shartan under his arm. He found Dorian making up his bed, with almost as much care and precision as a slave would have done. He was smoothing out the top sheet, with small puffs of steam and light hissing as he heated his hand to dry any lingering damp areas.

"You actually _do_ have experience with housekeeping."

Dorian didn't look at him. "Hardly. Roomkeeping, perhaps. Shame your family enough, and the Order of Argent is there to assure your poor parents that a strict bed-making regimen will keep you from sucking Laetan cock in the library." He snorted. "I am proud to say that I managed it three times in the Reverend Father's own study before I ran away. Plus another time with a newly invested Soporatus brother." He threw the coverlet over the bed, straightened it out, then sat down facing Fenris. "What can I do for you?" he asked wearily.

Fenris remembered why he was there. He fixed his eyes on Dorian's face and asked, "Pavus, if your father had bought you a boy instead of a girl, would you have fucked him?"

Dorian looked down at his hands, rubbing around the bases of his fingers, clearly accustomed to having rings to fiddle with in awkward situations. His nostrils flared. His jaw clenched beneath his pursed lips. Then he looked back up at Fenris, cleared his throat and answered with some difficulty, "Yes. I would have. In a heartbeat."

Fenris nodded, dropped the book on the bed next to him, and began to walk away.

"You're not…you wouldn't rather I left?" Dorian called after him.

"Why? I knew the answer before I asked, I just wanted to see if you'd be honest, with yourself and me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll never convince me Halward didn't try that.
> 
> Also, hello yes, this is a quasi-response to all the fics that makes pre-Inquisition Dorian secretly an abolitionist who would never sleep with slaves entirely on principle. I understand people not wanting to write any character this way, and yes, fic is transformative etc., but I'm personally more interested in showing his evolution on the topic. Also, ~*~DRAMA~*~
> 
> On that note, it's also a quasi-response to all the "Fenris turns into a rage monster when he meets Dorian/slavery comes up"-type characterization. Like you guys, Fenris is not going to be surprised to meet a Tevinter noble who's all "IDK I never really thought about the morality of slavery, they've just always kinda been there." He'd just be like "yep, that's how a Tevinter noble do."
> 
> Orana's family's first master's name evolved from the fact that Sandal says Orana smells like cinnamon buns.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA 20 Jan 20: Updates are probably going to be a little slower for a while. The precise direction the story is pulling me requires a lot of careful groundwork and more deliberate pacing. It's going to get kind of dark, and I don't want it to come off as just ~edgy~. Thanks for your patience, all of my wonderful readers!


End file.
